Always Another Option
by 332249
Summary: Spoilers for season 14, specifically 14.11 and 14.12. Dean braced himself on the sink. Inside his mind, Micheal pounded on a door. Finally, he looked up at the mirror. "Alright, you son of a bitch. What are we going to do about this?"


_Dean braced himself on the sink. Inside his mind, Micheal pounded on a door. The thumping and banging reverberated in his skull causing white-out flashes behind his eyes. In return, the Hunter thumped his head against the bathroom mirror... as though that would help. _

_ Finally, Dean looked up at the mirror. "Alright, you son of a bitch. What are we going to do about this?"_

.

**Option 1**

**.**

Dean had said his goodbyes at the Bunker. That was before taking the Greyhound all the way to port. Enough greased palms and the smugglers loaded passenger and metal coffin without question. The captain was used to burying problems at sea and not asking questions; he made good money that way.

"This is the place," the crewman announced.

Dean nodded and the two men maneuvered the Ma'lak Box to the edge of the boat.

"Alright. Once I'm in... splash." Without further ado, Dean climbed in.

The crewman looked to his captain for confirmation.

He shrugged. "That's what he paid for."

Another crewman came over to help shove.

Dean struggled to control his panic as the box sank.

Micheal railed as the truth of the situation dawned on him.

It took longer that Dean really expected to reach the bottom; it was a long way down. When he finally landed with a dull thump, Dean couldn't quite hold in the whimper.

"This is your answer?!" Micheal snarled, banging on the metaphysical door.

Dean drew in a shuddering breath. "Embrace eternity, asshole," he muttered.

.

_Dean shuddered at the memory of being resurrected six feet under in a coffin, at the suffocation and panic. A Ma'lak box would be about the same size and just as dark. Option one was sure to give him all too real nightmares. Surely there had to be something better._

.

**Option 2**

.

Dean had said his goodbyes at the Bunker. He knew that Sam and Cass would try to talk him out of this if he told them where he was going. They would have said that it was crazy to even consider. Well, Dean did not disagree, but at least this way he could fix one of the problems he had helped create.

So here he sat, tied to a chair. Wearing a headband of spikes and screws.

In heaven.

Naomi stood at his "Are you sure about this, Mr. Winchester?" she asked one last time.

"You sure you can hit all of Micheal's switches right to turned him into a drooling vegetable?" Dean asked one last time. "And I mean, full on turnip."

"Yes. Its actually quite easy compared to..." Naomi trailed off uncertainly.

"Turning Cass into the Manchurian Candidate to off me?" Dean offered blandly.

"Yes. That."

"And you can still use his juice to keep heaven running smooth?" Dean demanded.

"Yes. Using large amounts of his grace like that will actually help keep him manageable," Naomi answered. "And it will take a huge strain off of the seven of us."

"The letters for Sam and Cass, and Mom and Jack...?"

Naomi nodded. "I will see that they are delivered."

"Okay then. I'm sure." Dean squared his shoulders. "Let's get this show in the road."

Naomi nodded. One by one, she tightened the screws on his skull until there was nothing coherent left of man or archangel.

.

_Dean shuddered, remembering Donnie Finnerman. When he first saw Raphael's abandoned vessel, the poor bastard was a drooling mess. That was not how Dean wanted to be remembered for the rest of eternity. _

_And yet, some good could came out of this option..._

"_Let's put a pin in that one," Dean told his reflection."What else we got?" _

.

**Option 3**

.

Dean had said his goodbyes at the Bunker. The keys to the Impala sat where Sam would find them. Dean always intended to take Dorothy's motorcycle for a spin. It was good weather for the entire drive to Stull Cemetery. This was the spot where Sam dove into the Pit to stop Lucifer and save the world. It was a good spot to stop Micheal and do the same.

Carefully, he poured a ring of Holy Oil around himself. He lit the oil on fire with the first Zippo John Winchester had given him as a teen. The flames didn't look like much in broad daylight; especially with how dangerous/powerful Holy Flame really was. No angel, not even an archangel, could cross that line and live.

"Any last words?" Dean asked himself. Inspiration struck, and the Hunter quoted his friend who became his brother. "Now you're my little bitch."

Micheal pounded away at the door and screamed his denial even as his vessel took two steps.

Man and Archangel burned all the way to the Empty.

.

_Dean heaved a sigh. That would work, he supposed. _

_Truth be told, he didn't really WANT to die. But he would if that's what it took... He knew he would._

"_As long as we're brainstorming, lets keep going. Maybe there's an actual GOOD idea in there somewhere."_

.

**Option 4**

.

Dean had said his goodbyes at the Bunker. Not that anyone knew they were his final goodbyes. Well, Sam might have guessed. Kid knew him too well sometimes. If Sammy wasn't sure, he'd figure it out when he found the Impala sitting in the garage. Dean boosted a local car to get where he was going: an abandoned Mexican restaurant. It seemed fitting.

The old Death had promised if the Hunter ever tried to summon and bind him again, Dean would be dead before he said the first word. Billie might have inherited the mantle of Grand-Daddy Reaper, but she didn't have the same history with Dean, yet.

And now, she never would.

"Seriously?" Billie demanded with dry disbelief as she made the chains binding her wrist rattle and clink. "I give you your Death Book and _this_ is where you go next? How does this save you?"

"While you're chained like this, you have to do what I tell you. Right?" Dean asked.

"Technically," Billie agreed. "But you know how much that will piss me off? I get the feeling you will not enjoy what happens when I get pissed."

"Then my order are: Get your Scythe. Reap me and Micheal, right now. Then dump us both directly into the Empty. Do not pass 'Go,' do not collect $200. As soon as you do that, you're off the hook. You're free."

The Grim Reaper's Scythe appeared in her hands and she swung.

"Good-bye, Sammy," Dean whispered and closed his eyes.

.

_A single tear ran down Dean's face. Not only did he not want to die, but he couldn't do that to Sammy. Or Cass. Or Mom. Or even Jack. He knew the pain of being the last man standing; he wouldn't wish that on an enemy, let alone his family._

"_Come on, Dean," he told himself. "Stow the touchy-feely crap and think of something useful."_

.

**Option 5**

.

Dean had said his goodbyes at the Bunker. Just in case this didn't work out the way he hoped.

The Impala's rumble stilled in the back part of the Sioux Falls General Hospital parking lot. The hospital would call the sheriff when they found him. Which meant Jodie Mills, who would know what to do. Alive or dead, she would know who else to call. Personally, he gave himself fifty/fifty odds on the living or dying lottery.

Dean stood under the street light, breathed in deep to brace for the pain, and stabbed.

He drove Micheal's own angel blade deep into his own gut. The same blade didn't kill Nick when it killed Lucifer. Maybe it could spare Dean as he killed Micheal.

When Bobby Singer fought the demon possessing him and stabbed himself to save Dean, he hit a spot important enough to kill the demon, but minor enough to survive. Dean aimed for the same sweet spot. Life in a wheelchair was still life.

It hurt as much as he thought it would, but it had to be done.

Between the choice of blade, the wound site, and the hospital being a stone's throw away, he had at least a shot.

When he opened his eyes to Sam's most epic bitch-face ever, Dean smiled.


End file.
